


Separation by Meyghasa

by GO_Library_archivist



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GO_Library_archivist/pseuds/GO_Library_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley's had a message from Hell, and the results aren't good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Separation by Meyghasa

**Author's Note:**

> Note from [Quantum_Witch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Witch/profile): This story was originally archived at [The Good Omens Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Good_Omens_Library), which I maintained for eight years until I closed it due to lack of funds and decreased usership. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing the GOL's stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in July 2013. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Good Omens Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/TheGoodOmensLibrary/profile), or through the [GO_Library_archivist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GO_Library_archivist/profile) account.

Separation by Meyghasa

  
Summary: Crowley's had a message from Hell, and the results aren't good.  
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters:  Aziraphale  
Genres:  Angst  
Warnings:  Angst (mild)  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes  
Word count: 1880 Read: 212  
Published: 29 Jan 2006 Updated: 29 Jan 2006

 

* * *

 

It was raining again. It was not the light foggy drizzle that was so prevalent in London, but thick, fat drops that attacked his windowpanes en masse with a noise that echoed through his flat like machine gun fire. The lights were off and the only illumination in the room was the faint gleam from the street lamp outside. Complete stillness reigned.

Crowley was unsure how long he had been standing there, a silhouette before the window. It had begun with a half-hearted attempt at terrorizing the plants that had ended up being a silent misting. Then he had glanced out the window, and perhaps at first he had been mesmerized by the paths of the raindrops on the glass, but he had long since stopped focusing on anything at all. His forehead lay against the cool glass and his arms were crossed over the front of his expensive black silk shirt.

He had always hated rain. He hated snow most of all, but in the end snow was just another, albeit worse, form of rain. Perhaps he ought to have enjoyed it for all the trouble it caused people, what with broken umbrellas and taxis that splashed pedestrians and buses that didn't stop to pick up their passengers. However, although raindrops knew better than to come within a couple of inches of his person, Crowley despised going out into the rainy outdoors. People looked askance at a being who could walk through rain without getting wet while they still managed to get a thorough soaking under the protection of an umbrella, for one. But mostly gloomy weather just got him down, and Crowley was a cheerful sort of demon when it came down to it.

Today, though. Today, Crowley was far from feeling at all cheerful. He hadn't slept - a travesty in itself - and the morning had waxed into afternoon which had then waxed into evening without his moving from the window. He vaguely wondered if he ought to try drinking, but oddly enough the thought of alcohol turned his stomach.

_Too many associations_ , he thought grimly. A pang shot through his gut.

It wasn't as if they hadn't seen it coming. Both of them had simply chosen to ignore the premonitions, the omens, and, in the end, the proverbial flashing neon sign. The slightly sticky parchment reeking of sulfur that currently sat on Crowley's kitchen counter, however, was most impossible to ignore.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe things had gotten out of hand, and he certainly had grown comfortable in his earthly security after the decided lack of communication following the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't. Maybe he _could_ do better, work harder, tempt with more depth and breadth. Maybe this was all he needed.

So he tried to tell himself as he shrugged into his black leather jacket and braved the rain to head for the Bentley.

 

***

Aziraphale had been pleasantly surprised when the shop's bell jingled. The sign indicated that the shop was closed, and only one being would be brash enough to ignore it. He closed the book on his lap, carefully set it on the table next to his tea, and made his way to the front of the shop.

The look on Crowley's face stopped him cold with a greeting dead on his lips. "We need to talk," the demon said. "And it needs to be over something stiff."

Sometimes, the angel knew when not to ask questions. He gathered a bottle of his finest Scotch and two tumblers, then went into the back room where the demon was already seated on the couch. After setting everything down and sitting, Aziraphale turned to his associate with a worried look. "Crowley? What is it?"

The demon poured out two liberal doses of Scotch, handing one to the angel before downing his in one gulp. He refilled it wordlessly and leaned back into the dusty couch. "You have to understand," he began in a low voice, "that we should have seen this coming a long time ago."

Aziraphale's stomach filled with icy dread. A hundred possibilities - none of them good - filled his head at those words. Whatever this was, it was serious. The look on Crowley's face and the blankness in his voice did not lie.

"I can't believe it took this long, really," Crowley continued. "After the whole end-of-the-world business I thought sure it was inevitable. But when there was no word, and everything went back to normal, and that blessed Young kid's blessed assurances..." He was interrupted by Aziraphale's gentle touch on his arm. He jumped, head snapping around to look his angelic companion in the face, and saw the terrible concern there.

"Crowley, just tell me what is going on. Please."

The demon downed his drink for a second time and thumped the glass on the table. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, head hanging just above his chest. "Hell is a terrible place, angel," he said in a voice full of pain. "You don't know how horrible it is, or how horrible it can be. The screams, and the fire, and the stench of burning flesh that permeates everything, no matter how much you try to ignore it. It's not just bureaucracy, you know. They get a kick out of that shit. The dog-eat-dog mentality. All the demons have it. They'll sell your proverbial soul if it can get them out of a black mark on their file." He pinched the bridge of his nose, nudging his sunglasses down in the process.

"I don't understand," Aziraphale whispered.

"And then there are the Circles," Crowley continued as if the angel had not spoken. "Each one for a different sin, each one with a different punishment. They get worse the further down you go. At the very bottom is, er, the Boss. But before him, before you get to him, there's..." He paused, shuddering. "... _Cocytus_."

Aziraphale hissed as if in pain. "Crowley, why are you telling me this? I know about... that place. What's going on?"

He forwent the glass this time, instead grabbing at the bottle and chugging a few harsh swallows. After wiping his mouth clean and returning the Scotch to the table, Crowley removed his sunglasses, setting them carefully next to the half-empty bottle. Aziraphale was always startled initially when he was able to look directly into those snake-like gold eyes, but it was the sheer amount of pain in them this time that took his breath away.

"We've got to split up," Crowley said at last. He tried to ignore Aziraphale's gasp - of horror? pain? - and steamrolled on before he lost his nerve completely. "Maybe it's for the best. We've been keeping with the Arrangement for so long that maybe we're both going soft. This way we can get some real work done."

"You don't mean that!" Aziraphale shouted, jumping to his feet. "How could you mean that? How could you even _say_ that?"

Crowley ran his hands through his hair. "It's possible. With all the tempting and thwarting, what's really getting done, angel? No one can win if we're at a stalemate."

"No one is _supposed_ to win. We agreed on that millennia ago!"

"I've changed my mind," Crowley said dully.

Aziraphale's temper flared as his pain doubled. "You damnable serpent," he cried. "With all that we've seen, and all that we've shared! I thought that... I thought..." He trailed off when he noticed the blood dripping from the demon's hands.

Dropping to his knees, the angel could see that Crowley's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Gently, he pulled one of Crowley's hands into his own and managed to pry it open. Four bleeding crescents marked the palm, a testament to the real feelings going on in his associate. "Oh Crowley," he said softly. "What's really happening?"

"Cocytus," Crowley whispered. "I've been threatened with Cocytus." He removed a stinking piece of parchment from his coat pocket, unfolded it, and laid it on the table for Aziraphale to read.

Aziraphale waded through the the various insults and foul language and finally figured out that due to "fraternization with the enemy," Crowley was under investigation. Further "infractions" would lead to "an eternity spent in the ice lake Cocytus," according to the signed parchment. Tight pain clutched the angel's insides as the message made its full impact. "But, I thought Adam...?"

"Didn't know what he was fucking talking about, it seems," Crowley answered with a snarl.

The anger died away and was replaced with a grief that overwhelmed him when he met those startling blue-grey eyes that were filled with tears. He grabbed the angel's hands and held them fast in his own. "You have to understand that I don't want to do this," he said, his voice filled with desperation. "I mean, we've been together so long. So many years. It's been, well, interesting with you, angel. I can't even think of drinking without you and--"

Before he knew what we was doing, and before he could give the slightest, well, damn about what would happen, Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley and kissed him soundly. The demon made a muffled sound of surprise tinged with protest, but Aziraphale would have none of it. He held on to Crowley for all he was worth, ignoring the panicked flutter in his chest and the pained desperation tearing at his stomach. And then, Crowley kissed back. He abandoned all thoughts of the future to fully embrace the present, and with that freedom he worked his arms around Aziraphale's waist to pull the angel flush against him.

The kiss was every emotion of the past, present, and future crushed into one scorching moment. All the pain and fear and anger both were experiencing made themselves known in that physical meeting of supernatural beings. It lasted for what felt like hours before both broke away, panting though they had no need for breath, flushed though the room was chilled.

Crowley reached for his sunglasses and slid them into place, effectively hiding that anguish that was scrabbling at his insides. Aziraphale clutched his hand desperately as he stood, and for a moment he allowed himself to pause and squeeze. Then he broke contact, half stumbling to the doorway.

He looked back, meeting the angel's gaze once more. "I'm sorry, angel. Take care of yourself."

Then he was gone. And as the screeching of the Bentley's tires outside the shop sounded for the last time, Aziraphale put his head into his hands and allowed himself to cry.

 

* * *

  
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This story archived at <http://library.good-omens.net/viewstory.php?sid=231>


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